


Soup and other things

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Episode Related, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-18
Updated: 2004-06-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 03:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: A small drabble on what may have happened after the end of 409!





	Soup and other things

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“So get your ass back in bed you son of a bitch and eat some FUCKING chicken soup!”

He walks back towards the kitchen and for a moment I’m just frozen where I am, confused, angry, relieved, impressed, all of the above. But most of all, tired, so fucking tired that I can’t fight him anymore, at least not for now. I slowly walk to the bed, each step harder than the last. The bed seems a million goddamn miles away. I’m so exhausted and feel like shit I can barely get up the few stairs but somehow manage. I crawl onto the bed and he’s suddenly right behind me with the bowl of soup and sits on the ledge with it. I’m not sure my stomach can hold onto anything at this point and I tell him as much.

“It’s okay, if it comes up, it comes up” he says as he stirs it around. “At least maybe you’ll get some of the nutrition in you. “Not eating at all will just make you weaker”. He moves to actually feed me the soup, but that’s where I draw the line. “No fucking way, give me the bowl”.

He hands it over, but stays to watch me struggle to get a few spoonfuls down. I can feel him staring at me with those big blue eyes and I look up, expecting to see pity or fear and already feeling my anger rise up again. Instead, I see………….something else, a mixture of pain, anger, but mostly…..well, love I guess---and I’m not sure I can hold that look with him. It’s too raw, open—and I’m too wiped out emotionally and physically to deal with what that look does to me. I look away and try to concentrate on the soup.

“You know I’m going to want to know everything”, he says. “I mean everything--what happened, what the doctors said…”

“I know”. I say slowly. “I can’t right now, though. I’m too fucking tired.” I hand him over the bowl half finished, it’s all I can manage for now. I collapse against the pillows and just try to keep the soup in my stomach for awhile.

“Okay, get some sleep, we’ll talk later”, he says softly and pulls the duvet up around my shoulders. I’m so exhausted. I didn’t expect to feel this bad, this fucked up. I’m already starting to drift off and I feel this soft kiss on my head and a warm hand along side it, and then it’s gone and I hear him walk softly back into the kitchen.

I fall asleep, with so many feelings inside me but one that stands out well over all of the others----peace….


End file.
